


it's not so hard to see if i'm not mistaken

by stitchingatthecircuitboard



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Character, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:12:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1917612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchingatthecircuitboard/pseuds/stitchingatthecircuitboard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So it’s not me at all you wanted to talk about,” he says dully, “it’s Steve.”</p><p>Her breath stills in her chest, and for a second she’s dizzily grateful that he’s forgone the lie.</p><p>“No,” she says, voice steady and clear if pitched slightly lower than usual, “perhaps — perhaps it’s me. You see, I did have a girl back home waiting for me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's not so hard to see if i'm not mistaken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [defcontwo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/gifts).



> title from "barrel of a gun" by guster.

She doesn’t expect Barnes’ good will, or any semblance of friendship. He dislikes her immediately, disheveled half-hearted pass aside, distrusts her even, and she can’t quite blame him. Peggy wants to distrust him as well, in the petty, instinctive way she’d thought she’d outgrown before leaving England, but they’re both professionals, even if she fought through too many closed doors to count to be here and he fought harder to stay safe at home and that, that’s precisely what she means. Barnes is anything but selfish, though she thinks he might argue that point if pressed.

Finding him is not difficult. Steve, though reluctant to leave his side, has been cloistered away in meetings with Colonel Phillips and Howard Stark and her, too, if she can wrangle it. It’s still a struggle to get into the room, some days, though today it might work to her advantage.

Barnes is hunched at the solitary outskirts of camp, smoking and shifting every so often — as the breeze shifts, she realizes, and remembers Steve’s medical file, asthma practically the least of his problems. The habit — and it must be a habit, at this point — strikes her as terribly, tenderly thoughtful.

He catches sight of her approach, or maybe he hears her, or maybe he simply realizes he’s no longer alone, and safe in that isolation. In any case, he stubs out the cigarette, tucks it away before she arrives.

“Agent Carter,” he says, polite but cautious, his jaw wound tight shut. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” she says, equally polite. They’re professionals. She’s pleased not to have misunderstood him in that. “May I have a word?”

He swallows, eyes flickering past her shoulder to the odd soldier making his way between tents. “Sure,” he says, and, “is Steve — Captain —”

“Steve’s fine, he’s meeting with the Colonel and Stark.” She watches him closely, the way his expression shifts in poorly hidden relief. “I actually wanted to talk about you.”

The change over his expression is so severe she may as well be looking at another person entirely: the unconscious openness of his face closes off, as smooth and absolute as the locking of a door.

“Respectfully, ma’am, I’ve made my report,” he says coolly. 

Peggy shrugs, tucks her hands neatly into her pockets, steps forward until he turns to face the woods beyond camp again, shoulder to shoulder with her.

“It’s not HYDRA I want to discuss,” she says.

“No?”

She can’t see his face, staring resolutely ahead as she is. “Tell me, Sergeant Barnes. Do you have a girl back home waiting for you?”

He freezes next to her; she waits quietly.

“So it’s not me at all you wanted to talk about,” he says dully, “it’s Steve.”

Her breath stills in her chest, and for a second she’s dizzily grateful that he’s forgone the lie.

“No,” she says, voice steady and clear if pitched slightly lower than usual, “perhaps — perhaps it’s me. You see, I did have a girl back home waiting for me.”

Barnes startles, posture shifting like he means to whip around to face her, but he remembers himself in time, and settles again.

“What happened?” he asks eventually.

The question prickles under her skin, and Peggy shivers from the pain of it. “Well,” she says, “she was in London, when the bombs came. I’d known her for years — we’d gone to secondary school together, and then we were in London and we were older and there was a war on, or about to be —” She stops. 

“It’s not so different from you and him, I suppose,” she says softly.

“Maybe,” Barnes says, shifting unbearably closer, staring out into the woods, “but it sounds like you were braver than me.” 

“Or more reckless,” she muses, “or less unobservant, perhaps. I am not certain I have ever met someone truly brave.”

“Except Steve,” Barnes says fiercely.

“Except Steve,” she agrees, but privately wonders if his bravery isn’t merely stubbornness and the lack of self-preservation instincts and too much conviction for any one person. She wonders if she’s too cynical for either of them. 

They stand quietly again.

“You don’t — look,” Barnes says abruptly, his cool vanished, consumed by a raw ache he’s probably carried his whole life. “Listen to me. He’s all I’ve fucking got, do you understand that? That’s it. He’s it for me. To the end of the goddamn line. He’s it for me. And he’s in love with you. Jesus. And you’re a queer.”

“Sounds like we both are, Sergeant,” Peggy says crisply, tucking the cold dull throb of anger away behind the perfect curl of her hair and stain of lipstick on her mouth. 

“Yeah,” he says belligerently, “but.”

“It’s not just women for me,” Peggy says, “not that that’s any concern of yours.” She glances up at him. “And it seems to me that Steve should hear what you’ve told me.”

Barnes’ expression twists bitterly. “He’s in love with you,” he reminds her. “You think I don’t know, you think I can’t tell? He’s in love with you. Stop rubbing my face in it, Jesus.”

“He’s in love with you as well,” Peggy says quietly. “I think you do him a disservice if you don’t at least tell him.”

He stills, quiets, stands silently for a moment. “Maybe,” he says at last. “But I’m not brave like him.”

“James,” Peggy says, “I am fairly certain that no one is brave like he is.”

“Well.” He sags a little, looks at her clearly for maybe the first time since she’s known him. “At least we agree on that, don’t we.”

“I would hope that’s not the only thing we agree on,” Peggy says, “but yes; I suppose you’re right.”

Barnes pulls out his cigarette, plays with it between his fingers, the matches still secreted away.

“What a fucking idiot,” he says suddenly, “what a fucking idiot. Volunteering for a fucking science experiment the second I turn my back.”

Peggy laughs. “God, the stories I could tell you from basic.”

He smiles at her, crooked but honest. “What a bunch of idiots we are,” he says. “Hung up on a guy like that.”

“Yes,” Peggy says, “a sorry bunch of fools, all of us.”

He tucks the cigarette behind his ear. She brushes a delicate hand over her hair, checking for stray locks. He offers her his arm.

“Agent Carter,” Barnes says, polite and warm, and she can’t help but smile at him.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she answers, taking his arm, and walks with him back towards the center of camp.


End file.
